moon colored
by sheriff stilinski
Summary: "I think that's the point." DracoLuna


Title: moon colored

Summary: "I think that's the point." DracoLuna

Author's Note: Just a lil story that's been buried in my computer. My Luna is so different than everyone else's, but honestly, I can't imagine her still being her kooky self after all of the series, I just really can't.

/

He is twenty-two when they bump into each other again. She is twenty-one and a half. They are much older than this, though.

She blinks when she sees him across the train tracks. _It's quite a strange thing to see a mirage at the train station,_ she thinks _. Did I drink enough water today?_

When he sees her, his throat gets dry. He is tempted, by some unknown force, to find his way to the other platform. He passes it off as nostalgia. He forgot how small London was.

They stare at each other, past the phase of avoiding the other's gaze. He is the one who waves to her. She notices he still wears long sleeves.

Her train comes around the corner before she can wave back to him. He notices that she heads to the window, despite the bizarre situation, and looks for him.

She puts her hand on the grimy train window for a reason unknown to her. He wonders if her irises still have specks of black hidden in blue. An indescribable loneliness hits him then, as he watches her watching him. He remembers a few stolen moments – moments of quick passion. He wonders if he'll see her again.

She keeps looking for him for stops on end until a man says, "You've long since passed him."

She wants to say something to him – something about Nargles or some mystical creature to scare him out of talking to her, but the man's face is pitying and kind and she is soon to be twenty-two years old. She is no longer a child who speaks in riddles and tells The Truth to every person she meets. Her eyes have gotten harder over the years. Her hair is more yellow than moon colored. She has learned to stay silent. Luna has given up her desire to spread Truths.

She sits down on the train seat and says, "I was just hoping he'd come back."

She doesn't know if she's referring to him coming back from Romania or on the train or if she means if he'd come back into her arms, but the man nods sadly and turns away.

/

He dreams of a memory – looking her right in the eye and biting down on her milky thigh. She had laughed and moaned at the same time, curled her fingers into his comforter.

He wakes up hard. Sweaty, and his fiancee, Astoria, rolls over to look at him. She has a lazy smile on her lips. Her eyes are half closed. She reaches down low and touches him, and as he is grasped by her, he leaves guilty kisses on her skin.

Across London, Luna dips into her claw foot tub and bites the inside of her mouth until she tastes rust. She contemplates touching herself, but she knows his fingers are still there in memory. She dunks her head underneath the bath water, wants to scream, wants to wash herself of him, but comes up for air instead.

A voice calls, "Are you coming to bed soon?"

Luna blinks and says, "Yes!"

She unplugs the bath and waits for the bath to loudly slurps the last of the water before she leaves the room.

/

They switch platforms, this time.

He almost laughs when he realizes, but instead, he stays silent as always.

She looks nice – not that she didn't last time, not like she doesn't always, but. She's wearing a short black skirt, sheer black stockings, and two scarves piled on top of a warm jumper and a man's coat all on top. He wonders if the man's coat is a fashion trend or a statement to him. (She picked it up at the local thrift store to ward off potential creeps on the tube, but he doesn't ever find this out.)

She looks at him quizzically, as if she was assessing why he was even back from Romania and if he finally proposed to Astoria or if he thought about her, every once in a while. (He thinks about her always, like a second habit, but she doesn't ever find this out.)

She doesn't wave this time, just buries her face deeper into the knit scarves around her neck. He knows she's on the wrong side of the track for a reason – maybe a job interview or meeting a friend for lunch or maybe, she, like him, is on the wrong side of the track to see him.

He finds himself raising a single finger and switching sides of the track, even though he has to pay extra. By the time he makes it over, the train has arrived. She is about to get on it and up close, he can see the different colors in her scarves. Even the scarves themselves seem to be made of many different past scarves.

She turns to him and all of the emotion rise up at once to the surface of her eyes and then recede just as fast as they came. Her eyes are bluer than they ever have been. He wants to tangle his fingers in her hair like he once had and never let her lips leave his.

They stand, facing each other. A woman watches them from her seat on the tube, interested in their reunion.

He can't remember who initiates the walking toward each other (he should probably ask the woman on the tube, but the train leaves long before they pull apart) and embrace each other. Luna's lips find their way on his in a feverish, terrifying way and refuse to leave for more than a second to breathe. Draco's hands find their way into her coat, feeling how much she has filled out since he had left. He loves that she now has more substantial breasts. He loves the banana yellow of her once moon white hair. He loves the very, very faint laugh lines by her lips. It frightens him to no end that he loves these things – these changes in Luna, the girl who he had fallen into bed with after the war, the girl who had changed from the hand of his aunt, but he does.

And then, the next train makes itself known with a loud roar that vibrates their mouths. She untangles herself from him and boards it. He notices that dangling on her ears are radishes. He does not move until the train departs, and then, makes his way to the other platform.

/

It is a year until they see one another again.

He is sitting in the park with a newspaper in hand and a suit on. The heat is stifling, yet he does not flinch until she sits down next to him. She takes his left hand off his paper and faces his palm to her face and twirls his wedding band around. It's only the slightest bit loose. He's been meaning to get that fixed.

"Congratulations," she says, pressing her lips to his ring finger.

"Thank you," he says, voice sounding choked.

Her head bowed reminds him of all sorts of memories. She knows this, because when she meets his eyes, her mouth is twisted upward on one side. She turns to look at the pond in front of him. He pretends to read the paper.

"You wish it was me, sometimes," she states, eyes still fixed ahead.

He reads out loud, "Woman Hypnotized, Left By Lake."

Her fingers find his and she holds on tight. They stay there for some time. He can't flip the pages of the newspaper. They sit in silence, each thinking of the other, of the past.

He kisses her when the clock strikes three. She shivers, even though the heat has yet to break.

/

Over the telephone, "I wish we were brave."

"We were brave, once. In our own ways."

"I'll never stop missing you."

A soft exhale, "I think that's the point."

/


End file.
